


With myself (now I’m fucking)

by qgmon



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Christmas, F/F, aka: 2020 at its finest, quarantine and self-isolation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:53:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28225677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qgmon/pseuds/qgmon
Summary: You fucking hate Christmas.There, you've decided. And you actually hate Eve, a lot. You've decided that too.Damn her.•••The one with Christmas 2020 and a very bored Villanelle.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 20
Kudos: 104





	With myself (now I’m fucking)

**Author's Note:**

> I will be completely honest here and say that this is all me, letting my own frustrations out because I can’t do it in real life (staying a strong, bad bitch and whatnot). That, mixed with some very needed villaneve content because don’t we all miss them terribly.  
> Merry Christmas!

You fucking hate Christmas.

There, you've decided. And you actually hate Eve, a lot. You've decided that, too. 

Ugh. 

You should never have turned around on that stupid bridge. You should've just smiled, waved, and walked away. Easy. Imagine: you could be sunbathing somewhere in Australia, living your best life by now - not a single mask in sight. Stupid Eve with her beautiful hair and her sexy voice, and her even sexier brain and her making you feel things and turn around and stay and thus have a terrible Christmas. She's the worst.

You could've gone anywhere - flown to Mars for all you care - but no. She loves London. 'It's home,' she keeps saying and you scoff, every time.

'It's where I met you,' she continues and you scoff... less. 

Damn her. She's too fucking clever.

Had you known this year was going to be such a mess, you would've dragged her out of this stupid grey, wet country by force. Well, not by force, never by force, but you would have been a lot more strict, adopted much more of an 'I'm putting my foot down and you can't do anything about it' attitude. Not that it's ever worked with her before, not once; see you're way too soft around her, because, well... look at her. How could you not be? But you would have. If you knew then what you know now, you would have. Definitely.

Because now is a very shitty time and you're bored out of your mind, and everything that could have gone wrong - did. And you blame London and Eve for all of it.

Eve.

You can't even see her and she's so close. Just outside your door. Sure, you could create a 'Love Is Blind' kind of situation - the two of you have been watching way too much terrible television this year; well, it's mainly been you and Eve against her will - but these walls are too thick for anything even remotely fun. And regardless - you're really tired of masturbating at this point if you're being honest. 

Okay, so you got sick. And? Big deal. It's not like you're _actually_ sick. You would never truly get sick - you're not like everyone else. You've survived prison - twice, several attempted murders and beatings, a kidnapping and Dasha's terrible treatment, and cold Russian winters, and Konstantin's annoying voice, and Eve denying her feelings for you... the list goes on. Point being - you've been through a lot. More than most. So a little cough won't do that much harm now, will it? 

Well, Eve says she agrees with that statement but she still won’t stay with you.

'If you want to leave early, you'll have to get tested.'

'Tests are pointless! It's only a cough!'

'Well, then it's only ten days.'

You growl in frustration but it doesn't do much to change her mind.

It’s been... god knows how many days of this now. You've lost track of time from the moment it started; has it been three days? Two weeks? Five hundred painfully long years of doing absolutely nothing? Who's to tell.

You call Eve all the time of course, ‘what are you wearing?’ and all that, but it stopped being fun after the first few phone sex attempts because you know she’s so damn close, and yet she could be _way_ closer. Your fingertips are tingling with need; you've not been able to keep your hands to yourself for more than a few hours ever since you both turned around and walked away, together.

'I don’t want to catch it from you!' she keeps saying each time you ask her, very nicely, to come and stay in your room. And you would understand her reasoning, maybe, if you weren’t bored to the point of yanking your eyes out.

You and Eve could be sick together - now would that be so terrible? You’re sure you could make her feel so much better anyway if you just. left. your room. You’d kiss her better and make her breakfast, and make her come _so many times_. You could decorate the tree together - god, you don’t even want to know what it looks like now that she’s done it all by herself - and bake cookies, and watch Christmas films just like normal people do. Or so you’ve heard.

That's what you think. Apparently, that's not what the government of this grim wet country thinks - stay isolated for ten days, don't leave your room, blah blah, whatever - and it's not what Eve thinks, either. 

Damn them and their good sense. They’re not the ones losing their minds.

You're pretty sure you've been staring into the void, focusing on one particular dot in the ceiling for at least a couple of hours when you hear her knock. Three times - such an Eve thing to do. You wait for her to say something, anything, but the words never come. You sigh; why do you like this woman again? Her wits and her humor, and her curls and her tits-...

Okay, got it.

'Yes? I'm here. Obviously.'

You can hear her take a deep breath behind the door. You get up and settle into your place on your side of it.

'Hey, um.. are you hungry?'

Oh, Eve. You can't help but laugh and you swear you can hear her frown in response.

'I was thinking of making pasta.'

'Making? Or getting something delivered and putting it into a bowl? You know there's a difference, Eve.'

'Oh shut up. I-' the bolts in her brain are turning - she's so damn loud, 'I miss you.'

Now that's one way to keep you quiet. You slide all the way down, your back to the door, and sigh; you hear her do the same, too.

'Yeah?' you're really _really_ trying here, 'Enough to come and stay with me?'

'Villanelle-' her voice almost apologetic, 'you know we shouldn't.'

'I know.'

You do. You've only been so compliant because it's her and you really, truly lo-..

'It's Christmas tomorrow.'

'I know.' You didn't.

Silence follows.

'If you could be doing something right now, anything at all,' she begins, careful because she knows how much this has been affecting you, and she's doing this new thing where she's trying to be empathetic and understanding when it comes to your emotions, 'what would it be?'

'I think we both know the answer to that question, Eve.'

She snorts. You find yourself smiling, just a little.

This woman. She's so amazing.

'No, I'm serious. Imagine - the perfect Christmas. Where are we? What are we doing?'

Your heart skips every possible beat at her use of 'we'. You know that no holidays could ever be perfect, or in any way satisfactory, if you weren't together, with her. As shit as this year has been, it's nothing compared to what could've happened if at least one of you hadn't turned around. It hasn't been easy but it proved - once and for all - that it was all worth it. You spent every moment of every day together - laughing, sleeping, screaming, fucking, eating, etc etc etc. A true fairytale. You would not have had it any other way.

You don't know what could be better than thinking that she might be feeling the same way, too. Perhaps only knowing it for certain.

'Well, we would definitely not be in England.'

'I figured that much-'

'Eve! I'm trying to tell a story here!'

She doesn't respond, waiting for you to continue. She knows you and all your dramatics so well.

'Now, where was I?' You take a deep breath in.

Here goes.

You're at least halfway through your Christmas holiday in Bali by now. Yes, Bali, because you've not seen the sun for way too long now and yes, you went early because you wanted to look nice and sunkissed for Eve this Christmas, freckles and all. Just because.

Usually, you would consider mountains and snow and skiing for the festive season - these plans never saw the light of day, as you never had anyone to celebrate with, so who are you kidding - but after running around, hiding in a million different parts of London and not travelling anywhere else for so long, you think you needed to spend Christmas somewhere hot. Also, you wanted a country where Eve didn't have to wear clothes and you could get away with hiding everything she brought. 

Everyone wins.

Your stay is made even better by your incredible nine-bedroom villa, which is wonderfully excessive and you didn't hear the end of it for days until the both of you actually arrived, entered the premises, and suddenly Eve had no more complaints. She loves the finer things in life, really, and her facade keeps slipping more and more each day. She's dating you, after all. If that doesn't scream luxury, nothing does. 

The house is amazing - open-plan rooms, a large terrace with scattered white leather sofas and large glass tables, a dining area with a view to a breathtaking twenty-metre turquoise swimming pool and a private tennis court just behind the fence, as well as a sparkling white marble kitchen you will never have to use because the villa is fully catered morning noon and night. Now _that's_ the life you deserve.

You insist on what seems to be the largest Christmas tree in the world for the entrance hall, and you make Eve decorate it with you because that's what the Christmas spirit is all about - forced fun. You end up doing most of it yourself, though, since you have impeccable taste and she is being lazy.

You take the most extensive, two-storey master suite and your heart does that thing where you feel like it might stop, because how can this amount of happiness even be real when she follows you into the room, without question, and starts unpacking so she can stay with you. There are eight, unoccupied, extravagant rooms to choose from but she wants to sleep here. Next to you.

It doesn't hurt that the bedroom has a four-poster super-king size bed and a fully furnished balcony with a private beachfront view, you guess.

You find her sat there one morning: coffee in hand, curls wild and toes buried in sand, watching the sunrise. You walk out into the balcony, take the steps down - this place is truly incredible - and join her on the beach, quietly. She turns her head to look at you and you swear you could cry. Her eyes, so incredibly peaceful, full of everything you now know to be good emotions, tiny creases forming at the edges. Proof she's smiling at you. 

No amount of sunrises could ever look more beautiful than she does at this exact moment. 

Your hand finds hers, fingers intertwining in the sand, and you sit in silence for hours. Not a single thing needs to be said anymore, everything finally clear as day. It's just the two of you, together, at last. 

You go hiking and Eve takes a lot of pictures - something you did not know about her before the trip, but it makes you feel fuzzy inside now. You help her up at first because you are so incredibly strong and capable, but she's the one who has to make sure you actually come back and don't end up staying all the way uphill because you no longer _want_ to walk, in the end. You compliment each other so well.

You make your way to the temples, you stand under the Tibumana waterfall, and end up sunbathing in Kelingking beach for hours because it looked pretty in pictures when you googled it, and you wanted to see if the water would feel any different there. It doesn't, but at least you know now. And you get to see Eve in her bikini, in a different location, looking breathtakingly beautiful with the backdrop of breathtaking nature. A win-win situation. 

The two of you travel to Gili Meno because you've been dreaming of seeing those underwater statues since the first time you saw them online a few weeks ago. Eve says it's hardly a long-time dream but what does she know? It's what you want to do so you're going.

You find out she's scared of being underwater and everything suddenly makes sense. Why else would she not be excited to see something as spectacular as creepy statues of people underwater? With actual corals growing on them, too?! Incredible. 

Eve should know that you will look after her by now, though. Through snorkeling, deep-diving, and life-or-death situations involving Carolyn Martens and secret Russian operatives, and many _many_ gunshots - you will be there to save her.

You take her hand because she's such a baby and-

'Hey! I am not that scared of water! Besides, this isn't even happening, you don't know-'

'Eve, please, I'm telling the story of our perfect Christmas.'

'You're a dick.'

-anyways.

You take her hand and you have the best time looking at those incredible statues. Eve is so happy you brought her there and she takes hundreds of pictures with the waterproof camera you bought her just for this trip. By the end of it, she's no longer _that_ big of a baby.

'Better?'

'Just keep talking.'

You take her on dates to each of the 'Ten Best Romantic Sunset Bars in Bali' because you are very thoughtful and did your research before the trip. Eve is so lucky. First, something to eat - you insist on traditional Balinese food because it's good to try new things, and she seems to be into it. Followed by one too many fruity cocktails on her side, and only a few for you because you're quite drunk on something else entirely.

You would take the worst of everything you've ever been through and multiply it by twenty if it meant that you would still end up right here with her. 

It's the way she looks at you and licks her lips every time her gaze falls slightly below your eyes. It's the flowy white blouse she's wearing and the fact that she's wearing it just for you, only because you picked it out and bought it for her - something she usually hates, but not in Bali. Not tonight. It's also the fact she's not wearing anything underneath and insisted on sharing this information with you before you left the house.

It's the way she keeps sliding closer and closer to where you're no longer sprawled out on the sofa because you suddenly feel the need to cross your legs and not move a single inch, and how her finger finds a strand of your hair and twirls it. And how her left hand is now on your thigh, and how she downs the last bit of her Crème de Mure and whispers in your ear:

'I want you, now.'

She grabs your hand and drags you outside, calls a taxi - you didn't know she could whistle like that - and pushes you inside, caressing your thigh and planting lazy kisses on your lips as you try your best to control yourself during your fifteen-minute trip. She's not making it easy.

She pulls you straight into the villa, pushes you against the front door, and wastes no time as she unbuttons your trousers and shoves her hand to find you absolutely soaked. You are so ready for whatever she wants to do with you.

Fingers skip lace and her middle finger starts moving in gentle circles, while her teeth mark their territory on every bit of your neck she can find. You try your best to stay quiet but everything starts bubbling up because Eve is doing all of _that_ , and you don't think you can hold it in any longer, you have to make a sound-

'Villanelle, are you... moaning?'

'Yes.'

'Are you doing what I think you're doing?'

'Yes.'

Silence. You can't stop now.

'Are you?'

'Yes. Continue.'

Fuck.

She abandons your neck just to drop to her knees and yanks your black Saint Laurent trousers all the way down - you can only hope she doesn't rip them.

'Fuck the trousers, I'm close.'

It doesn't matter if the trousers are ripped-

'Villanelle!'

-because Eve is now looking up at you with a grin so wicked, staring into your eyes like a predator. You know this might just be your Last Christmas - queue the song - because she will probably devour you whole.

'Would you mind it?'

'No.'

She kisses the insides of your thighs, slow and teasing, and your head is spinning like crazy because you need her, right there, _she knows where_ , and you need her now. She can see that you're desperate; god she's enjoying this so much. Your hand finds her curls and you grab a good fistful - firm yet so needy.

She finds it in herself to have mercy.

Her mouth is on you and your legs start giving out already. Her tongue presses with more purpose and your hips jerk forward to meet her; you’re dripping down her chin and onto expensive, smooth marble. You wish you could savour this moment forever.

Eve's left hand grabs you by the hip, keeping you steady, and her right joins her busy mouth. Fingers sliding down, through everything you have to give her, she finds her way inside. She steadies her rhythm and picks up the pace, her eyes shoot up to meet yours and you make a sound you're sure has never come out of your mouth before.

'It- it hasn't.'

'Eve-'

'Keep going.'

'I need you.'

Her moans stop for a moment, replaced by shallow breathing, and you're not sure what kind of a game she is playing when you hear her standing up and picking up her phone.

How rude, you haven't even finished yet, and she's the one who joined _you_ in the first place.

Your bedroom door swings open and she almost jumps at you, suddenly, taking your hand from between your thighs and replacing your fingers with her own, tongue on your clit, just the way you imagined.

God, she's so much better than your imagination.

You're so close you can almost feel tears welling up behind your eyelids and you beg her not to stop, pleading with the only word that's on your mind right now:

'Eve, I-'

Hazel eyes meet brown ones and you come undone. She devours you whole, as promised; not a drop wasted.

She stays there until you stop shaking, and crawls up your body to meet you, wet kisses trailing all the way up to your waiting mouth. She kisses you like she wants you to know she's missed you. It's almost like you'd spent five-hundred years apart or something. 

Speaking of.

'What about my isolation, Eve?'

'It's midnight. Your ten days are over.'

'Mm, we'd better make up for every single one of them. We have so much to catch up on.'

She laughs as you switch positions and roll on top, Eve now blissfully trapped between your thighs. She smiles at you the way she did in your beach-sunrise fantasy and you don't think you have ever been happier in your life. 

'I'm sorry we're not in Bali having our perfect holiday,' she offers with a soft smile.

'Feels pretty perfect to me now.'

She beams at your response, and you don't think you've ever loved her more.

'Merry Christmas.'

'Merry Christmas, Eve.'

You don't hate it after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas (comma) Eve. Get it? 'Cos it's the 24th. I'll show myself out.
> 
> Comments make my life better, as always.


End file.
